


Unfinished

by lezombiewife



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix It, I Don't Even Know, Post Season 4, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 05:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezombiewife/pseuds/lezombiewife
Summary: Day 402 looks a lot like day 1, and Veronica tries to cope...





	Unfinished

**Author's Note:**

> I could not compute the s4 finale, so I wrote a little something

It’s the middle of bumfuck, Minnesota when the thought actually comes to her. 

This is really just sad

In all reality she should be celebrating. Another case. Another day. Bad guy caught after being tasered in the balls. Boom. Really, she should be ecstatic but she’s actually shit faced in a bar called the Thirsty Tramp. If only she had a dollar for every bar with a vulgar name in the Mid-west… she might even be a millionaire someday.

It’s a classy joint - filled with smoke, the stale scent of alcohol, a hint of decades old puke, and men old enough to be her grandfather. At least until hot stuff pads on the soles of his work roughened boots and slides in the stool next to her with a smooth, “hey..”

Typically, she would be heying right back at him. Turned on by her recent success, her past sorrows, and a whole lotta whiskey. But she’s not really having a typical day so all that comes out is a sad blithering crying fest. Hot stuff looks more than a little turned off but to his credit stays put in the barstool besides her.

Again, whole lotta sad. Whoever thought the life of a tragic yet strong and sexy female detective would make for an interesting story was just dead wrong.

Sad was a better description of the life she currently led.

“You okay, hon?” the bartender calls out absent-mindedly. The lady behind the counter has a part of her head shaved with hair on one end falling to her shoulders. It’s edgy and kinda cool - Veronica briefly toys with the idea of doing something drastic to her own hair but really what’s the point.

No sexy male lead to make smart-ass comments. And her dad….   
Let’s just say she cut her ties with Neptune hard and fast. It blows when everything about Neptune reminds her of Logan. She supposed she could call Wallace. Maybe he’d have something to say but…

Nevermind, she hadn’t spoken to him since the wedding.

“You okay?” the bartender calls out again and Veronica wants to say yes except all that comes out is another burst of sobs. She briefly catches a look at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar - she’s all mascara tracks and foundation streaks. She even looks…..sad.

She’s starting to like that word. It’s short. Succinct. Powerful. 

Perhaps that’s why she very nearly jumps out of her skin when someone thumps hard on her back. It’s the old man on the other side of hot stuff who looks plain pissed.

“What the fuck,” she yells, ready to go to battle. Coz that’s her. That’s Veronica. Where the only emotion that trumps the sad is anger.

“Worked single time with the old lady,” the man croaks, “at least until she died.”

“Yeah, coz that’s assault, dickhead,” she puffs but before she can release another slew of curses is cut off by the bartender. “George…,” she says warningly, “we don’t touch strangers. And we don’t joke about domestic violence.”

“Eh, worked didn’t it?” he’s unfazed and some part of Veronica agrees. Yeah that got her out of her funk.

“He doesn’t mean anything,” the bartender apologizes like it’s somehow her fault. “Just a odd sense of humor. George here loved Charlotte…”

Apparently loved her enough that the lady was apologizing for his shitty behavior. Veronica would typically argue. Snark back. Except she’s tired. And sad. And angry.

All terrible things really.

“Lover’s quarrel?” the old man starts again because whiskey loosens tongues like nobody’s business. Veronica is just about to tell him to mind his own business when the words fall out before she can stop herself.

“Got my husband blown up the day of the wedding… does that count?”

Apparently that’s not a great conversation starter. Whoever knew?

It’s all a blur after that but somehow she’s back in the days inn that she found a coupon for. Minnesota is not just cheap, they also have a bunch of coupons. Veronica likes that. It gives her an odd sense of pride, and some days if she’s really high she can even hear Logan cheering her on. “It’s the little things, ‘ronica,” he would drawl and she could just see that smile on his face if she only squinted so…..

It’s been four hundred and two days. Four hundred and fucking two days. And honestly, she’s just as sad today as she was on day one.

She’s sprawled on her bed feeling sorry for herself when she hears a knock on her door. Goosebumps raise the hairs on the back of her neck. It can’t be room service- she’s too goddamn cheap and too goddamn broke for that.

Veronica feels up the gun tucked in the back of her pants as she peers through the eyehole. It’s a fedex guy. Well, no one knows her exact location. Senses come alive, adrenaline kicks in and she has got one hand on her weapon when the delivery guy just leaves the package at the door and walks away.

She briefly toys with the idea that it could be another bomb but what the hell. Does it really matter if it is a bomb? Not that she has a death wish… but she’s not exactly living her best life either. Veronica opens the door and gets the package in.

It’s sealed in styrofoam with dry ice? Well definitely not a bomb. She digs through the ice- skin burning from the cold when she finds a ziploc. She wipes away the frostiness and peers through the plastic. 

Perfect. It’s a fucking finger. And it looks pretty fucking fresh.

But the light catches something familiar and she knows she shouldn’t allow herself to feel this way but it doesn’t stop the odd feeling from blooming in her stomach. She tries to tamp down the hope that’s filling her insides by the second. She really should be worried sick but …...

It’s a platinum ring shining bright and clear through the plastic. And it’s the one she placed on Logan’s finger four hundred and two days ago.

She’s not sad anymore.


End file.
